Lord of the Forest
by Umodin
Summary: Tyrants rise and fall, but were never meant to be sealed. Upon returning to his family cabin in the ass-end of Maine, James Morris soon realizes how crazy this world really is. Magic and Witches, Heretics and Gods... It almost seems too much. But he has a responsibility now, greater than any he's ever had before, and the newly crowned Eighth Campione will do what he must.
1. An Unusual Phenomenon

**Author's Note: This is my first attempt to work in the Campione-verse, so go ahead and smash it apart. Just be sure to offer some constructive criticism along the way.**

 **Read and Review!**

"James" – Regular Speech

' _This sucks…!'_ – Thoughts

" **God Slayer"** – Heretic God

" _ **Lightning!"**_ – Magic Spell/Authority

 **Synopsis**

Campione. Also known as the Rakshasa Raja, Devil Kings, Supreme Rulers and Bastard Children of Epimetheus, they are mortals who, through various and often suicidal means, have slain a Heretic God or Goddess and stolen their Authority for themselves.

No simple mage can ever attempt to weather the might of a Campione, for the power of the Gods that dwells within a Devil King nullifies all mortal magic unless it is directly injected into the body of the Rakshasa Raja in question.

Currently, there are seven Campione, each ruling different territories all around the world, in Asia and Europe and America. They are, in order of ascension: Marquis Sasha Voban, King of the Balkans; Luo Cuilian, The Ruler of the Martial Realms, Ruler of China; Madame Aisha, The Queen of Caves; Alexander Gascoigne, The Black Prince, Campione of England; John Pluto Smith, The Masked Campione, Hero of America; Lord Salvatore Doni, The King of Swords, King of Italy; and Kusanagi Godou, Campione of Japan.

Whilst all of these peoples are unique and powerful, a unique event is happening. At this moment, three of the current Campione, Kusanagi Godou, Luo Cuilian, and John Pluto Smith, battle together in the territory of Kusanagi Godou; in Japan. Their foe: the Heretic God known as The Great Sage Equaling Heaven, Sun Wukong, and his sworn brothers, Zhu Ganglie and Vaisravana.

And yet, while this occurs, trouble brews in the land of America, the territory of John Pluto Smith himself. Events begin to move that will herald more problems for not only the Masked Campione, but the rest of the world.

 **Chapter 1: An Unusual Phenomenon**

James Morris sighed as he looked out over the calm waters of Clayton Lake from his fishing boat. It had been over fifteen years since he'd been in this part of Maine, and while he could happily claim that he missed it… He didn't, not really. It was cold here, there weren't any stores nearby and he was miles away from civilization. His last batch of memory's of this place were from when he was a child, and the perspective between then and now was insurmountably different.

He missed his house in the suburbs of Richmond, mourned for his old life and cursed his rash decisions. Regardless, he was here and he was here to stay, at least until he got his head on straight.

James was a grown man of 23, with cropped brown hair and stormy green eyes. Tall and broad, he stood at just over six feet with a relatively average build, if on the huskier side of the spectrum. Dressed in a simple pair of tan slacks and a thick grey hoodie, the only thing that really stood out about his attire was the necklace wrapped around his neck, a silver chain with a ring of dangling keys as its focus. Well, that and his beard, a full and groomed beast that James had painstakingly managed for nearly two years now.

He was also recently divorced.

' _Which was exactly why I came back here in the first place.'_ he thought morosely, idly adjusting one of his lines. Fish weren't necessarily scarce over here, but they weren't plentiful either. He needed to be smart if he was to catch anything else, though the ten bass in his cooler would settle him for the next few days, maybe even a whole week if he was smart about it. Regardless, his moving to the wilderness was, while annoying, the best thing he could think of. _'If I had to see that bitch again, I don't know what would happen. Nothing good, that's for sure.'_

That day had started out like any other, he awoke to go on a quick jog and then left for work, chopping trees for a group of nameless paper companies. At the time, with new clients lining up his schedule, there wasn't as much time for his wife. Guilt had begun to creep up on him, so he decided to take a half day from work at random to spend some quality time with her. She had been hinting rather heavily about having a kid at the time, and while he wasn't fully on board just yet due to his heavy itinerary, the process of creating one was always fun and worth the worry.

And of course, he came home to see her fucking the neighbors eighteen-year-old brat, home from college for the week.

' _I should have beaten that piece of shit black and blue.'_ James wanted to slaughter the kid when he'd caught sight of it all, but in the end, through the panicked cajoling of his ex-wife and the payout the little shit's father coughed up, he stayed his hand. The money wasn't anything substantial, but it was enough to pay for the divorce while ensuring that the bitch didn't get a dime, leaving just enough cash left over to buy a one-way ticket back to Maine, his old stomping grounds; the land of his birth.

Looking up, he saw that the sun was beginning to darken; rain clouds were in the process of covering the great ball of fire, and that more than anything let James know it was time to pack it in. With a lethargic shrug and a scratch of his beard he reeled in his lines, put the poles on the boat deck and puttered back to his mother's old cabin. Idly, he noticed a curiosity as he made his way back. He wasn't the only one out on the water today; a white cruiser was coasting the edges of the lake just about two miles out.

Odd, seeing as how in the ten days James had been out here he hadn't seen another person anywhere near this part of the lake. The only people he'd seen were the occasional campers and the nearby farmers who sold vegetables for ridiculously cheap prices. But even then, they were more than thirty miles away, in opposite directions from each other.

He looked at the cruiser for a few more minutes, debating on whether he should help or not, before shrugging and deciding that, no, he wasn't needed. Whoever was on the boat was probably one of the rare locals that also had property around here, and they would know when to leave. If not, well... they would be in for a surprise. He could see that the boat didn't have a cover, so it would be a sad day for the driver of the cruiser when the rain hit.

.

In the cruiser itself, a woman looked at the lakefront with a strained visage, pointedly _not_ knowing when to leave or that it was going to rain anytime soon, lost in thought as she was. She had a riotous mane of dirty blonde hair that was half-heartedly shunted into a bun, light brown eyes and freckled skin that was one step short of being pale.

Her name was Heather Duffy. She was a mistress of the unseen, a practitioner of magic in the school of Illusion, and she was a proud member of the Sorcerous Sacrilege Investigation.

Furthermore, she was not happy.

To say she was unhappy was quite the understatement in actuality. She was furious, and more than that she was just plain confused.

' _Of course, it's hard not to be.'_ she thought bitterly, idly looking at the only other boat on the water in sheer boredom.

Just before His Majesty John Pluto Smith left for Japan, he battled with and conquered a rogue group of mages that called themselves the Staff of Ending, a newly formed magic association that contested the Sorcerous Sacrilege Investigation and its Campione. Heather could even understand their original reasonings to a degree, though that was mitigated by their extremist actions.

The moment her master ascended to the rank of Campione after slaying the Heretic God Tezcatlipca, he made the declaration that the whole of America was his and that their mages were welcome to join his newly established order. Like most, Heather was more than happy to do so. The magic associations of the America's were quite splintered and disregarded when compared to their European counterparts, but for them to serve directly under a Campione? There was great honor in doing so, and more than that John Pluto Smith was the first to ever be born in America. The American mages would gain the status they had toiled after for centuries to obtain in a mere instant.

Like a great migration they flocked towards his banner and bowed at his feet, and the Investigation was formed amidst the echoes of glory and hope.

However, those that did not wish to follow His Majesty were many. They were an overly prideful lot, and while His Majesty did not mind most of them, there were quite a few that were so prideful and vain that they became a problem. In truth, they were more prideful than they were reasonable, which led to their vilification and eventual downfall.

A group of them ended up forming the magic association who's entire goal was to slay His Majesty, summarily naming themselves the Staff of Ending. The mages of the Staff of Ending were almost successful in their most recent attempt to kill John Pluto Smith, nearly setting off a bomb that would have wiped out half of California in the process. Were it not for his swift actions and cunning visage, North America would have lost millions in a ritual sacrifice that would surely have brought about the descent of multiple Heretic Gods, leaving the country to be a veritable warzone of the supernatural.

In response to this, the bulk of the Staff of Ending was summarily executed and imprisoned. However, there were still many mages that were not a part of the Sorcerous Sacrilege Investigation that called America home, and many were concerned that the Staff of Ending was only the beginning.

Which was why Heather was now here, in the middle of nowhere. His Majesty's personal assistant, Annie Charlton, ordered the lower and inexperienced members of the Investigation to, well... _investigate_ the country for rogue magic users in order determine their loyalties and ensure they were not leftover members of the Staff of Ending. It was one thing for there to be independent mages, it was entirely something else when those independent mages nearly caused a genocide.

In most cases, Heather would have been glad to do this. Indeed, she was quite excited when this was first anounced; she would finally have the chance to showcase her hard-wrought magical skills. It was difficult to gain prestige among an organization as large as hers was, which meant assignments like this were what she craved. Furthermore, all of her close friends and even her younger brother had been sent to wondrous places such as New York City and the beaches of Florida and the Grand Canyon, and if the trend followed she would be allowed to go somewhere similarly interesting. As a relatively sheltered native from a small town in rural Georgia, the thought of travelling always appealed to her.

Heather soon found out that not all assignments were equal, and this was not the traveling she had in mind. This became far more apparent, seeing as she was sent to the ass end of Maine.

And of course, it started to rain. _'Just my luck!'_ Heather groaned, having forgotten to grab an umbrella or rent a boat with a tarp. It was only a light drizzle at the moment, but she could tell from the clouds overhead that it was going to pour soon. _'Why didn't I check the weather this morning? I could have just had a day for myself in the hotel!'_

Panic soon overtook her. She didn't know where anything was, nor did she know about a hotel nearby that would let her wait out the storm. Hells, the only reason she came out to this portion of Maine was because she'd heard that there used to be a family of hermit-like mages that lived around here a century or so ago, and she figured there might still be a few of them around.

' _Well, I guess there's nothing else to do.'_ she thought, staring rather blatantly at the now retreating fishing boat. She had been ignoring the boat for the most part, seeing as how it was just anchored in the middle of the lake. Now though…

' _Let's see if northern hospitality is a thing.'_

* * *

 _ **Twenty minutes later**_

 _ **James' Cabin, Stapeln Villa**_

 _'The fish are looking pretty good.'_ James thought as he cleaned his catches in his kitchen sink, swaying to and fro as his iPod blared some Sinatra. The lights were on, and while the place was still a tad dusty, it seemed to be just the same as it'd always been.

Honestly, when James first returned to the cabin he could scarcely remember this place, seeing as how the last time he'd been here proper was when he was eight years old. But the moment he'd stepped through those doors for the first time in fifteen years all those fond memories came back to the front of his mind. It took time for him to get adjusted to living out here, without access to the internet nor any form of media, but adjust he did. It was just lucky that he'd always been an outdoors-man at heart, loving the fresh air that nature brought and the countless stars in the night sky. Now, whenever he stepped into the cabin be it from going fishing or logging or even just taking a piss, it felt like he was returning home. He felt invigorated just from entering its abode.

Stapeln Villa was a cozy little thing, nestled under a deep expanse of trees. Its property line segwayed into a small little creak with an even tinier boating dock, barely large enough to host his fishing dingy. Sitting at just over 1,000 square feet on a few acres of land and made entirely out of polished logs and stacked stones, the cabin was a place that had been in his mother's family for over 300 years. It was a boasting claim, he fondly remembered. She loved to mention it and would regale him of stories of her own childhood in the log cabin, though she never would speak of _why_ it was so important to her family. He had thought tradition was tradition, and that it just made sense to use a good house. He was hopeful that, when he had a family of his own, they would be able to spend summers here with their grandparents, away from the ever-growing necessity of technology modern world.

Sadly, that chance was never to come. A few months after his eighth birthday, his mother passed away from a harsh winter flu. It had been passed to her in a fish market, and had quickened due to the strain of being unknowingly pregnant with a second child. Her funeral was a quiet affair, and James was moved to New Orleans with his father immediately after, where he remained until he graduated high school and found a job cutting trees in Virginia. When his father died in a car accident just a year after his move to Virginia, James found himself the sole inheritor of the property.

Idly, he looked out the window. The storm was in full effect, darkening the skies overhead as expected.

What was not expected was the boat docked next to his dingy, tied to a tree instead of on the dock itself. It was that white cruiser from earlier, though it wasn't as white as it had been previously; such was the penalty of docking in the mud.

Frowning, he turned his iPod off. Apparently, the music was quite loud, for he could now hear the telltale sound of somebody banging on his door. It was a small property, so he reached the front door in just under five seconds.

Looking through the peephole, he caught sight of his intruder. She was a pretty woman that appeared to be his age, though she was drench from head to toe. Tall and freckled, with long blonde hair, teary brown eyes and pink cheeks. Her damp sweater and muddied pants gave him a clear view of the shape of her body, which was quite the nice bonus.

"Yes? Can I help you?" James asked as he opened the door just enough for his head to pop through.

Her cheeks went from pink to red and her neck followed suit, but after taking a steady breath she was able to compose herself, returning her cheeks to that pink color. "Can I come in? Just until the storm settles?" she asked, her voice echoing a slightly southern accent.

James sighed and looked to the top of his doorway, counting from five to one in his head, thinking. It felt strange to let this, well, _stranger_ in his house, but he supposed there was no reason not to. She didn't look dangerous and was probably just freaked out by the rain.

Plus, even though he wanted to get away from people to reorient his mind, he still missed conversation. And there was one skill he'd never really been good at that she might be able to help with.

"Can you cook?"

Blatantly confused, she nodded.

Without another word he opened the door fully, allowing her entry. She did so quickly, then froze the moment the door closed behind her, looking around warily.

He grunted and returned to the kitchen, where she followed slowly. He could understand her wariness, figuring that it was more than a little difficult to have to ask a stranger for help in the middle of nowhere. There were plenty of horror stories based around that very plot.

But that didn't matter to him. It wasn't like he was going to do anything of that nature to her. He just wanted somebody to help him cook, and maybe a bit of conversation to go along with that.

"Bathrooms just down that hall," he pointed lazily. "I'm cleaning up the fish right now. Once you get done in there, you can help me out in here. I can do some basic dishes, but I'd like to eat something different today. Here's to hoping that's where you come in. I'm James, by the way."

Robotically, she made her way inside the bathroom, the reply of "Heather" barely reaching his ears due to how quiet it was. What was not quiet was the loud sound of his bathroom door locking.

Shrugging, James did the most logical thing he could do by turning on the ear orgasm that was Frank Sinatra once again.

.

Heather was in a very strange position. Namely, she was having a hell of a time not freaking out.

' _There's something wrong with this place!'_ she thought furiously, absently grabbing a fluffy blue towel to dry her hair.

The original plan had gone just about as well as she could have expected, in the sense that she didn't really have a plan and it was quite obvious that she wasn't doing well.

The little stream that that fishing dingy went through was very small, so much so that she quickly found herself having to retract her motor and use one of the oars hidden in a compartment to row her boat after the dingy. Then, after she made it to the dock, she realized it was designed for one boat in mind, so she had to tie her boat to a tree instead, muddying one of her nicer pairs of boots in the process. That was when the rain fell in full effect, leaving her soaked to the core.

Then, of course, it took the guy that lived here about ten minutes to open his damn door. She could hear from outside the overly loud music that he was inside and guessed that he just didn't hear her. Which, in truth, just made her progressively madder.

She was just about ready to go bang on his window when the music stopped, and the door opened just moments after. He was a fairly normal looking guy, with a simple cropped patch of hair and, though she was annoyed to have to admit it due to her angered state, quite pretty green eyes. He was taller than her by just a few inches and sported a bulkier build, though not particularly defined in musculature. However, the combination of his larger build and that stupidly full beard threw any thought that he was pretty right out the window.

While subtle about it, Heather found little attraction in the masculine form. She wasn't a full throttle lesbian, having had dalliances with a few boys in the past, but those boys were slim and tiny and Heather preferred women most of the time. She definitely had no attraction to this lumberjack-esque type of man.

' _Really, I think the only reason he let me in was because I said I could cook'_ Heather huffed, removing her sweater so she could towel off her body next.

It was very strange and even more confusing, but Heather didn't really care at that point. She just wanted to get inside and away from the downpour.

But when she entered… Heather couldn't really describe it. One moment, she stood outside of a quaint little log cabin, and the next she was stood inside the fortress of an enemy, one that could decimate her. She had been assaulted by the most potent magic she'd ever felt, bar the one time she'd seen His Majesty use an Authority.

The magic in this house was so _rich_. The man that owned the place, James… he had to be a mage of some kind. Though unusual and especially rare, he could be a Caretaker, a magic user whose magic was bound to their property; binding theirs spells to the bricks and stone and wood used in the creation of their home, adding even more power when people lived inside the home. The magic that a Caretaker used was not one of defense, but instead was meant to attack invaders. The subtle difference was, to put it lightly, dangerous. Caretakers were notoriously hermit-like, preferring not to bother with other magic users and organizations. They were the type to tuck their heads in the sand, only emerging when somebody got to close to their homes.

That, that was a bad thing. It also a good thing. Heather had come all this way out here to find a mage, and she did. The problem was, if her hunch was correct and he was a Caretaker, then she was in a less than ideal position. This cabin was not a place she called home and she hadn't been keyed in to the ward stones. The only forms of protection she had in here was status as a guest and her own magic, which wasn't offensive in nature; she could distort his senses and mask the existence of certain objects and areas, but that meant little when a Caretaker knew their home like the back of a hand. She would never be able to trick such a person in their property. And, if the interrogation went poorly, her guest right would be revoked and she would be considered an invader.

Invading the home of a Caretaker, with magic like this? That was of the same level of stupid as challenging a Great Knight to a fight.

' _Right, just be calm. Just make sure he's nobody dangerous and get out of here once the storm settles.'_ Plan in mind, Heather put her still damp-but-not-soaked-anymore clothes on.

To be on the extra safe side, she dropped to her knees, hands clasped together in reverence and began her chant.

" _ **I call upon thee, Prince Loki! God of Trickery and Lies! Lend thy might to this one! Grant mineself the sight that thou hast gained from the realm between realms! Allow this one to see treachery! To view that which is wrong! To hide from all save your radiance!"**_

Heather winced as her magic focused into her left eye, turning the brown iris gold. This spell, while not particularly powerful and easily breakable, was beyond useful. It did exactly as she asked, allowing her to peer into that which should be discernible while under the guise of an illusion herself. Hidden magics and the intent to harm were made manifest before her, and while Heather didn't _want_ to use the spell, it was better safe than sorry.

Exiting the bathroom, she found herself quite glad she'd performed the spell. The quaint little sitting room that was in front of the washroom was now host to a cellar door, previously hidden from sight. It was massive, taking up half the room in itself, made of a black stone with carvings that glowed a soft purple hue. She know those carvings well, those were Nordic runes inscribed on the door, focusing primarily Nauthiz, Isa and Eihwaz.

As a witch that focused on the Nordic powers, it was necessary for Heather to at least know the basics of these runes. As a woman that wanted to be a master in her chosen field of magic, she knew far more than just the basics. And looking at them… Heather found herself rubbing her hands together, quite happy with her find.

Nauthiz: Delaying and restricting. A rune that resists all things, overcoming conflict in the end

Isa: Challenge and frustration. Blocking thought and activity, a standstill.

Eihwaz: Strength and reliability. The driving forward to gain, a protection with a purpose.

These were runes of prevention and protection. They must have been used to make the mind believe there was nothing there. The runes were what formed the illusion, and it was pure chance that she could break it due to her use of the Lokin magic system in this particular case.

There was only one thing Heather could only think of that the man, James, meant to guard.

His ward stones.

If she held his ward stones, there would be no chance he would be able to not answer her questions! Those were what powered the magic of his home, what allowed him to _be_ a Caretaker. If she had those then he would be at her mercy, not the other way around. The interrogation could go on without worry. She would finally be able to show her worth to His Majesty, maybe even being allowed to serve by his side like Lady Annie!

With newfound purpose, she walked to the hatch and made to open the door. It was, of course, quite jammed, having been dustier than her grandmothers snatch. Luckily it wasn't locked. She floundered to lift the thing, heaving and huffing and hoping that her struggle didn't break her fragile illusion.

Finally, with a great heave, the hatch opened with a great bit _BANG!_ Her illusion shattered right then and there, just as her hope did, as the door slammed against the cabin wall, and fear welled in her as a great beam of azure light shot forth, crashing through the ceiling like a boot to an ant, blowing the rain clouds away and brightening sky like a supernova, only to disappear in a singular instant. James burst into the room just after, the knife for the fish in hand, dripping blood and scales onto the wooden floors.

"What the _hell?!_ " he thundered, glaring a green venom at her. With his larger build and his horribly angered state, Heather was already in a state of panic, but she was far more intimidated by the inside of the hatch.

Her initial intimidation was quick to turn into pure, unadulterated fear. A horrified gasp escaped her mouth, her hands snaking to cover the bile that threatened to spill from her core. Her stomach was doing flips, churning around as if it were a raft stuck in the middle of a tsunami. She fell to her knees, scrambling towards the cabin wall, desperately wishing that she had just stayed in the rain and suffered a small cold.

For underneath the hatch lay no ward stones. Beneath the cabin was a basement, deeper than any Heather had ever seen. It was so deep that she could hardly make out the bottom of it, that was until a row of braziers lit up in blast of vermilion flame. Those braziers lit the whole of the basement for her to see, and what lay on the ground was appalling and apparent in all the same.

Corpses.

Corpse after corpse after corpse, there was a near uncountable number of human cadavers lining the bottom of the floors. They were strewn along the walls, out of the way from the writing on the floor. No, that wasn't writing, those- those were the skulls of the corpses, spread out in such a way that spelled something. She breathed out, revulsion and awe seeping out all the same. It was a rune, formed of the dead. A rune of ultimate sacrifice, made from the lives of what seemed to be a thousand people. It was a Y shaped symbol, only with a third prong.

Algiz: Shield and shelter. The warding of evil, a hidden danger.

And she could feel it, the evil that this rune meant to ward. Having been witness to His Majesty use his Formless Spawn Authority, she was familiar with what this evil was. There was a distinct feeling in the air when the power of a God was nearby, and Heather could feel her hackles rise, her adrenaline pumping. There were no words to describe the words of pure, unadulterated fear she felt. It was primordial, a natural reaction to such an unnatural force. Campione were called Devil Kings for a reason, for their power was not right, just as what she unleashed was not.

Within that basement, she could feel the power of an Authority. She did not know who's power it was, nor what type, but that magic- the potency of it... There was no question in her mind, this was the power of a Heretic God.

' _What have I done?'_

She knew she had opened Pandora's veritable box. This was not the home of a Caretaker, or at least this was not where the ward stones were kept if he truly was one. This was the home of a different kind of creature; a fool. There was never a greater fool than one that thought they could shackle the power of a God.

Feet thudded against the wooden floor. She looked up.

James approached.

She scooted further against the wall, desperately hoping to escape the madman before her.

He continued his approach. He still had the knife in his hand, she noted as her heart drummed.

Heather could no long contain herself. The bile that made to rise did indeed come forth, spilling painfully onto her clothes and the floor and even a little inside the basement.

.

James was normally a pretty decent guy, he liked to think. He didn't think he was a _good_ person, believing that such a distinction didn't actually exist, but he did what he could for people when the situation presented itself.

While he took this Heather girl in primarily because she could cook, he probably would have let her inside in any case. It wasn't something a good person would do, it was something any person would do. She looked miserable in the rain, and he was well aware how far away the next town was.

He now deeply regretted letting her inside.

She was having a panic attack. Crying big, honking tears and puking her guts out on her clothes and his floor and the basement _that he hadn't had before_.

 _'And what the hell happened to me roof?!'_ Indeed, there was a circular hole in the middle of the roof, just above the basement that should not be. It looked to be just about three feet in diameter, and just above he could see a blinding skyline. The rain was gone, which shouldn't have been possible since he had _just_ seen the clouds less than a minute ago. That storm was going to last the rest of the day, possibly even through tomorrow.

"What the hell was that?!" he yelled at her and found himself uncaring of how loud he was. He was so bloody confused, and more a little afraid all the same.

Basement, basement, _basement, BASEMENT._

There was no basement in Stapeln.

"I-I'm sorry!" the girl, _Heather_ , cried out, struggling to stand. She fell further onto herself, putting more of her mess onto her body. "I didn't mean to do it! Please, _I didn't mean to!_ "

"Didn't mean to do _what?!_ " James bellowed, and Heather shrunk back even more. Was it wrong for him to yell? Probably. James knew he handled confusion strangely. When confused, instead of attempting to work out a solution, he got loud and confrontational. It was a matter he struggled with on a regular basis.

She hiccupped, shaking and holding herself in her arms. James had to take a moment to calm himself, what little could be calmed.

He failed, miserably.

' _This doesn't make any sense!'_ There had never been a basement in this cabin, nothing of the sort. James knew this for a fact, he'd searched day in and day out for something interesting and exemplary in this place and all around the land he owned. A basement in the middle of the floor? When there was no carpet or covering?

"Where did the basement come from?" he asked as calmly as he could, staring her down. "What happened to me roof?" His stare could not be called friendly, regardless of how calm his voice was.

"I-I undid the illusion and opened the door. I'm _so_ sorry, but _please_! I need to contact my organization, we need to let John Pluto Smith know about this! Lives are at stake!"

"Illusion? Spellwork? What are you, some kind of wiccan? John Plu- Isn't that that weirdo that thinks he's some kind of superhero? In Los Angeles, right?"

She stared at him then, her eyes somehow going even wider. Strangely, while one eye was the brown he remembered seeing at the door, the other was now a golden color. It looked… unnatural.

"…You don't know?" she asked, looking even more confused, though she seemed to be monumentally relieved.

"Know what?" James asked, impatiently.

"About-" she took a breath. "Do you know anything about it? About us?"

"About what? Who?"

"About magic?"

Bewildered, James stared at her. Then he started laughing, loud and boisterous.

"What- _magic_? What about it? Are you gonna tell me I'm a wizard or something, Hagrid? Hate to break it to you, but I'm James, not Harry. I might name my son that, though."

Shaking his head, James looked away from the apparently mental girl and down towards the basement. Eyes wide, he was suddenly glad for the desensitization that modern day video games offered the brain.

 _You don't know?_

Bodies upon bodies, forming a strange, trident-like symbol. More bodies. It smelled horrible too, rotten and festered and just… dead. _Bodies upon bodies upon bodies_. It was unnatural, it was unthinkable. It-

 _Do you know anything about it?_

' _Was this why Stapeln was so important to mom? To her family? Were they a bunch of murdering crazies?'_

No… No, that couldn't be it. Maybe his ancestors, but his mom was as normal as could be. She went to school in New York and lived in the city for a few years before meeting his dad.

' _They only came back to Stapeln because she'd inherited it and was expecting me'_ he thought, staring at the bottom. In his peripherals, he caught sight of movement in his newly found basement. Block after block, brick after brick, a stairwell took shape, spiraling from the bottom of the newly discovered room to the hatch door. Nobody down there made those stairs, and neither had anybody up here. They began to emit a similar green glow as the braziers did, adding to the dread of the room.

 _About magic?_

Mechanically, he turned back towards Heather. Somehow, in that short span of time, she'd re-righted herself. She still looked a mess, with her own puke seeming to decorate her more than her clothes, but she was no longer in a panic. Her face was set, mismatched eyes serious, and her mouth was pinched in a grim line.

If he had a mirror on hand, James was sure he'd be sporting a similar look. He plopped down right in front of her, uncaring for the mess on the floor.

"Tell me about magic," he said- no, _demanded_. "Tell me about my family."

Her shoulders set and her eyes changed; from frightened to relieved to more serious than he'd ever seen a person. Her mouth opened, and the words that followed shattered his reality.

* * *

 **So, this is a very different style of story for me, if you couldn't tell. Highly plot driven, with deeper character traits and a strong case of intrigue.**

 **The reason I decided to write this? I happen to be a huge fan of the author SeerKing, and absolutely love that authors story "Campione of the Raging Tides". It's masterful, it's wonderful, and I highly recommend you give it a looksie if you're one of my readers. If you just read Campione stories then you probably already know about that one and can understand my enjoyment.**

 **This is going to be a struggle to write, but hopefully I'll be able to do it well. I haven't updated any of my stories in a while, both because I don't have as much time as I used to and because none of my stories currently up are mature enough to hold my attention. The hope is that this will get me reinvigorated in the FF community, though if not… meh. I honestly don't mind. It's a hobby and there isn't anybody in this world that can make me do what I don't want to do if I'm not getting paid for it.**

 **Thanks again for reading. Let me know what you all think.**


	2. Descent of Destiny

**I was quite surprised with how well the first chapter was received. If you all are interested, I've cleaned it up a bit, even added a little extra, and would love if you would give it another look. Also, I changed the stories name to Lord of the Forest from A Northern King. As this is a story based around an eighth Campione, I figured using his eventual epithet as the title of this fic would be appropriate.**

 **You are more than welcome to ask questions and speculate on** _ **how**_ **he would gain such a title. Though I won't guarantee an answer.**

 **As always, remember to Review after you've read this chapter!**

"James" – Regular Speech

' _This sucks…!'_ – Thoughts

" **God Slayer"** – Heretic God

" _ **Lightning!"**_ – Magic Spell/Authority

 **Chapter 2: Descent of Destiny**

Heather was the type to talk as she walked, James realized. She promised to speak of magic and what she could about his family, but she wouldn't just sit in the mess she'd made as she told her tale. No, she wanted to make sure whatever was down in the basement was secure. Considering James wanted to know what was up with the recently discovered crypt, he agreed.

Of course, he found himself regretting that decision.

"The first thing to understand about magic," she started as they took their first steps into the abyss. "Is that it is real. That may seem obvious, but one cannot even begin to understand magic, let alone practice it, when they have the slightest of doubts on what they are doing. Witches, wizards, sorcerers and mages – they _exist_ , hidden from society, but there all the same."

As they walked down the stairs, past rotten corpses and towards the vermilion hued room that was unusually warm, James could only nod dumbly. Though his anger and confusion from earlier was still there, James kept quiet; listening, not speaking. _'I need to know what the hell is going on before I let it out.'_

"I am a part of an organization of magic users known as the Sorcerous Sacrilege Investigation. Weird name, I _know_." She said, just as James opened his mouth. He smartly closed it. "They're the ones that sent me out here; I was to look for any mages that weren't a part of the Investigation and ensure that they weren't dangerous. A few weeks ago, some crazy independents almost blew up a city, so you can understand the need for it. I hadn't found anything aside from boredom, until I entered your house."

Her voice, which was already shaky, then began to grow weary.

"Your home… It is filled with some of the most potent magic I'd ever felt," Heather said in a hauntingly low tone, her southern accent spilling forth unconsciously. "I don't have any particular sense for foreign magic, so the fact that I could feel it so strongly was worrisome. I did what I thought was best, thinking you were an independent mage and that you were hiding something, so I investigated. And, _of course_ , I was in way over my head and found more than I'd ever intended. It wasn't mortal magic that was in your house, it was the magic of a God."

"Gods exist?!" It was already quite difficult for him to believe in magic, but a God? _That_ was hard to grasp. He'd been an Agnostic for as long as he could remember, barely ever going to church for anything outside of Christmas and Easter and the occasional wedding or funeral. "Wait- there's a God down here?!"

"They do, and no, there isn't." Heather both confirmed and denied, looking James dead in the eye. Brown met green, and James found himself breaking from her intense stare, looking down past her shoulder. They were nearing the bottom, he could see. The bodies weren't as numerous as he'd once thought, though there were still far too many. "Our definition of a god is quite different from what you might think. To a magic user, a god is any being of legend, any person or thing that has a tale about them. They do not need to hold the title of god traditionally meant _for_ gods, they could be heroes and heroines, saints and priests, angels and demons and all of the above, as well as all of the below. They don't even need to be humanoid, there are plenty of beasts of legend and nature spirits that hold the title of god. A god is a being of note, something that should not exist but does. Worship gives them life, and the written and oral stories passed down through time give them power."

James could hardly wrap his head around that. He could hardly wrap his head around anything that was happening right now in any case, crazy as it all was.

"Could you-" he paused his speech to step over a particularly large body, just before the bottom of the stair. "Could you give me an example?"

Heather hummed in thought, stepping down onto the floor. It was made of uneven stone, the gaps lightened in that green tint. She maneuvered past another pile of bodies, making her was towards the symbol made of skulls on the ground. There were a pair of pillars on to the left and right of the rune, where a pair of angry red spheres were perched. "Do you know any mythologies well?"

Scratching his head, James could only think of one thing. "I played God of War when I was younger, once." Nobody could consider James a gamer, but the friends he grew up with in New Orleans craved that title. His playing video games was more to be social with them than it was out of love for the activity.

She scrunched up her nose. "A violent game and a mockery of the Greek pantheon, but at least it gives a general idea towards their mythos. Using them, the best example I could give would be in recent history. Eight years ago, the Minotaur descended from legend unto the world."

" _What!?_ " And really, what else could he ask to that? "I thought you said they exist, not that they come down here!"

"It is a rare event," she agreed, her voice quivering as she walked towards the back of the room. The middle prong of the runic symbol ended just before the wall of the room, where spiraled carvings akin to crop circles decorated it like a canvas. "When a god descends to the mortal plane, they do so primarily because they find the legends and myths they were formed around to have become burdensome, and they rebel against them. Changes in society and mistranslated texts could change a benevolent god into a tyrant, as an example, and the reverse is also possible. Or, a god could find modern society to spit on what they represent, such as when the Fallen Angel Ramiel descended twelve years ago when a church using his name was desecrated. On the topic of the Minotaur, it descended in anger due to its legend and origin being distorted and misrepresented."

She stopped suddenly, turning around to face James fully.

"You have to understand something about the gods. When they descend they bring about nothing but chaos and destruction. Due to this, as well as the fact that their existence is inherently wrong, they are known as Heretic Gods. Using the Minotaur as an example, it was responsible for the deaths of thousands of people the instant it spawned."

"That doesn't make sense!" James stated, incredulously, "Wait- why hasn't this been on the news anywhere?"

"Because only those with magic can see Heretic Gods. To most people, they appear to be natural disasters."

"But- But how do you stop that? Did you make magic to fight gods?"

"No," she shook her head rapidly, hair flying side to side. "Mortal magic cannot harm gods; it's an imitation at the best of times. Only a gods magic can harm another god. There is only one exception to this rule, and they are existences even more impossible than the gods themselves; Campione."

"Camp Ioney?"

Heather stared at him blankly, followed by a slow blink that made James feel foolish for his butchering of the word. "Campione," repeated Heather, annunciating each syllable of the word as if she were speaking to a toddler. "They are the Supreme Lords, the Rakshasa Raja, the Devil Kings, the Bastard Children of Epimetheus. A Campione is a mortal that has slain a god and taken their power for themselves."

"Wait a second," James just didn't understand. "But you _just_ said that only a god can hurt a god."

She nodded sharply. "Exactly! A Campione is something that is even more impossible than the gods themselves. Even still, they exist. Currently, there are seven of them, and that one you called a _'weirdo that thinks he's some kind of superhero'_ is one of those seven. John Pluto Smith is America's only consistent way to combat Heretic Gods. It is because they are so unusual and powerful that it is an honor to be under their banner. I follow my king gladly."

James could do little but mull over those thoughts, taking in what he could, attempting to believe the unbelievable. He wanted to call her a crazy person, but looking around… There was too much happening for it to be entirely false. Some of the stories his mother told him, the strange insistence that this property be always in the family, the runes displayed everywhere and the hundreds of rotted bodies littering the floor, when coupled with Heathers story, forced him to believe.

Magic was real.

"But how did they kill these gods?"

"Trickery and guile, mainly." She said with a furrowed brow. "There are… other ways of dealing with Heretic Gods, more distractions than anything." Heather admitted. She was tracing her hands along the walls, her face awash with disgust as she battered skin drafts out of her way. "There exist artefacts in this world, natural protections so that Heretic Gods don't destroy the Earth. These artefacts can take or bind their power, the Authorities of gods, existing both due to old legends and Heretic Gods being belligerent. They are known as Grimoires."

"Those are the, uh- spell books, right?" James awkwardly asked.

Heather shook her head, grimacing as her hair slapped against the grimy wall. "Only in the fantasy section of a library. A Grimoire can be anything, be it a stone tablet or a necklace, perhaps an actual book or even a statue, each holding different abilities and containing different powers from various Heretic Gods. Some are man-made, and some are godly items."

She paused, looking heatedly at the wall, tracing her hand in a pattern against the framework. "Using the Greeks as an example once more, Hephaestus once created a cage that captured Aphrodite laying with Ares, humiliating them before the rest of the pantheon. This cage was a Grimoire, holding the ability to temporarily bind the divinity of a god. It was passed down to one of his most devout, and it was later used by an ancient Campione named Uldin on the Heretic God Usumgallu, the Great Dragon of Mesopotamia. Uldin was mortal at the time, and after trapping the dragon he pierced it with a wooden spear bathed in its own divine blood, killing the dragon then and there, becoming a Campione in that moment. Another would be the most recent Campione of our time. Kusanagi Godou used the Tablet of Prometheus, a Grimoire which was said to be what the Titan used to take the fires of Olympus as a gift for mankind, and stole an Authority from the Heretic God Verethragna, the Persian God of Victory. Using that stolen Authority, a golden sword that could sever divinity, he was able to slay Verethragna, becoming the seventh Campione."

"And you think one of those Grimoires is here?"

"It's the only thing I can think of," she shrugged, scratching her chin. "That, or you descend from a family of fools that somehow were successful in binding a god. There have been few that have attempted this, less than a handful have succeeded, and always, _always_ , whoever committed this act found themselves and their kin slain in the most horrific of ways, while the surrounding landscape was turned to rubble. The Investigation doesn't know much about your family, just that they were stoutly independent from any mage organizations and refused to cooperate with other groups. Whatever power they were hiding down here has to be wHY-!"

Just as she finished speaking, she tripped, falling directly into a small pile of bodies, collapsing against pair of legs that broke on impact, scattering grimy dust all over her body. Her emanating shriek ruined the image James had been building for her. This was no longer the dangerous and knowledgeable woman that could turn invisible that was telling him about magic, this was now the girl that puked on herself in his living room.

James found himself letting out a breath of relief; it was far easier dealing with her like this.

However, Heathers shriek quickly turned into a gasp. As she stood up from the pile, she was no longer empty handed. Grasped in her left hand was the crank of a wooden lever, positioned directly next to a wall lit only by the remnants of that green glow from the floor.

She dusted the grime from her body as best she could, pointedly not speaking about tripping. "It looks like this is what I'm after."

Then, with a great heave, she pulled the lever.

It was an almost instantaneous shift. James could feel the ground shake, could see dust rise and buffet the room as the bodies fell away. The floor was opening, the bodies were falling down black-stone chutes that seemed to form unto themselves. Uneven stone tiles fell into the quickly growing abyss, the green glow that emanated the room from beneath the floor was visible now that most of the floor was gone; a great brazier of vermillion flame taking up the whole of the bottom of the basement. And, where the skulls patterned to fit the rune of Algiz once sat, a great trident of unlit coals was now on display.

From where James and Heather stood, a second set of stairs formed from the fallen stone tiles, floating just above the fire. They all held small scripts on them, some in Latin, some in what appeared to be Greek and even a few in German.

"How the hell did I miss this?" James wondered aloud, his voice echoing all throughout the secondary chamber.

"Because you were never meant to find it," Heather retorted, eyes wide and voice breathy. "Nobody was meant to find it. This fire- Don't you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

" _Exactly!_ I don't feel anything! It doesn't feel hot or cold, and it's not making a sound." She then began walking down towards the flame, looking both frightened and giddy.

James found himself having no choice but to follow her. The flooring that was once available to him was gone, and the stairs back to his cabin were on the other side of the room. The only way for him to possibly get back up there would be to scale the walls, and that was something he would not be successful at. He could only hope that there was some way back up to the surface from down there.

As he descended, the fire grew progressively brighter. Heather was right, there was no feeling from the flame. It wasn't warm, nor was it cold. There was no wind or air current in the room, yet its embers swept around without a care in the world. And, as she stated, it was silent. Its sparks were not crackling against the coals, nor was there any ash spilling forth.

' _Magic'_ He couldn't help but marvel at it.

Reaching the great brim of the massive brazier, he found his place next to Heather once more. She was looking at the metal lip, fervently typing something into the notes of her smartphone. James was less interested in what she typed about the flame and was more interested in the flame itself, naturally speaking.

It was, it was hard to describe. James felt a connection with the fire, as if it were familiar. He stuck his hand out, and as the embers licked his fingers, he felt more at home than ever before. Without hesitation, James stepped into the flame, ignoring Heathers shout of surprise.

There was finally sound as his boots pressed into the white coals. James was entranced, bug-eyed and smiling wide. Laughter bubbled from his mouth as he _frolicked_ in the flame, uncaring for how foolish he may have looked to Heather. James felt like a kid again, the memories of his time in Stapeln were finally coming through in the most wonderful of ways.

"James!" Heather cried out, pulling him from his reverie. He turned to her and was confused to see her hand was burned, the skin of her palm red and raw. "Look in the middle!"

"How'd you burn your hand?" He asked, quite confused. The fire was supposed to be safe.

"It's a fire, it's supposed to burn when you touch it," she said cuttingly. "I don't know how you aren't burning, but that doesn't matter right now. _Look in the middle!_ "

Scrunching his brow, he turned back around to do as she asked.

And there it was. Sat in the middle of the blaze, a golden pommel rested, the butt of the object pointing towards the basement entrance. James made his way over, taking note of the immaculate runes carved into it. He knelt down, pushing soot out of the way, and grabbed the gilded hilt. It was light, surprisingly, and without any effort he was able to lift the object in question.

It was an axe, seeming to be both ancient and freshly forged. More specifically, it was a battle-axe, a great beast of a weapon wrought of gold and embedded in gems. The blade of the axe was severely arched, looking like a crescent moon with a pommel stick out from its center. The pommel of note was gilded with the symbol of a gnarled set or roots, spreading all around; root overlapped root, uncaring of pattern.

' _This feels good'_ James thought. It was better than any axe he'd worked with before, probably better than any chainsaw too. He felt strong with it in hand, seemingly capable of almost anything. Unconsciously, he flexed the whole of his body, attempting to appear more masculine whilst holding the golden weapon.

However, even as he felt great holding the axe, he also felt indescribably… wrong wasn't the word. Unsettled was closer to what he felt, but that wasn't right either. The words didn't come to him. The moment he pulled it out, the braziers flame began to recede, and now, only about thirty seconds after lifting it, there was little more than a trickle of embers. Though the braziers fire had no temperature, James felt a cold chill without its embrace, and started to shiver

"Well, that has to be the Authority." Heather commented, making her way through the coals. Without the flame, there was nothing to burn her, which in turn meant there was no reason she could not step inside. "Off the top of my head I can think of a few gods and legends involving an axe… But that doesn't really matter, not right now. I need to contact my superiors and bring this to the Investigation, His Majesty will know what to do with it."

Then, with a raised brow and an arm raised, Heather motioned for James to hand the axe over.

.

While hopeful that he would see sense, Heather found her hopes dashed quickly.

"Why should I?" James asked, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the axe tightened. His voice echoed through the room, his question reverberating around the walls, mirroring itself over and over again in various levels of sound.

Heather didn't know the right words to say. She had never described the divine before, not in extreme detail in any case and especially not towards a non-magic user. How could she explain the danger that Authorities possessed to him without him having any true experience in magic outside of this day?

Authorities were the might of the Gods. They were the manifestation of their legends, their power given form. It was due to this naturally dangerous phenomenon that it was imperative that the Authority in question be kept under lock and key, given to a Campione so that, should a Heretic God descend with intentions towards the axe, they could combat the disaster.

But this wasn't a mage. A normal mage would have shared her viewpoint on how Authorities and Grimoires needed to be under lock and key, and if he didn't share it he would have just sacrificed her the moment she opened the hatch in hopes of preserving the protections. No, James was a normal human who just happened to live in a magical house. He wouldn't _understand_ how important it was that the axe be sent to His Majesty.

Already, she could feel its power. It was a subtle thing, but the rolling torrent of magic was there, just waiting to be wielded. James was looking progressively more defensive of the item, its allure seducing him. More than that, Heather could see the adverse effect of a human wielding an Authority.

James was aging before her eyes. His bearded, youthful face was steadily growing weathered, laugh lines deepening and green eyes were hazing with tiredness. His bones were weakening, forcing him to slump.

A creaking sound began to echo through the room, like a piece of wood was just about to snap.

With the physical proof that he _needed to let that axe go_ , Heather opened her mouth, ready to speak her peace.

The creaking quantified with a great _snap_ ; Heather could scarcely even hear her own thoughts from that noise, let alone James hearing her words. James gained a grandly poleaxed look and pointed with his free hand over her shoulder. Heather followed it, jaw agape. The black-stone wall was leaking.

Then the walls of the basement broke, shattering as if they were made of glass. The small leak turned into a veritable tsunami as the normally calm waters of Clayton Lake spilled forth in a rage; a torrent of liquid crashing into the pair. Heather was only able to inhale a quick breath or air before being slammed by the water.

She could scarcely control her flailing; the current was so strong. All Heather knew was that she was rising, up then down, then her body was twisted until she didn't know which direction led to where. The bodies that had once lined the floor were crushed under the pressure, and even a few were rising with her. A stone slab smashed into her gut, knocking the smidgen of breath she'd been able to take out from her, and Heather found herself choking; drowning.

As Heather was battered and swept around, she found her life flash before her eyes; the cliché apparently as true as it was silly.

 _-Seven years old, told to play with dolls. I'd rather have played with my brother and his friends-_

 _-Eleven, sad. My brother wasn't allowed to go to my middle-school. Dad said that he would be home schooled. Why couldn't I join him?-_

 _-Twelve and betrayed. Why wouldn't they show me anything? Why did my brother get to learn magic and I had to learn how to take care of a house? It wasn't fair…-_

 _-Thirteen and confused. I was unsure of how to handle being asked out. I didn't know him and, while he wasn't ugly, I thought that his sister was much nicer to look at. Mum said that it was unnatural to like other girls like that, that I just needed a nice man to take care of me-_

 _\- Fifteen and in tears. I cursed my mum and her old-fashioned opinions about how women should act. My younger brother was allowed to learn the family magics and I was supposed to be a brood mother? Fuck that noise-_

 _\- Eighteen, beaming. I'd just passed my apprenticeship exams; now I could look for a master and get away from my mother. She didn't even know I'd known any magic. That was going to stay that way-_

 _-The woman that took me on knew only Lokin magic through the Nordic school. I wanted to learn Hermetic magic through the Grecian school like my brother did and be a knight. To show my family that they picked the wrong child. Beggars can't be choosers. I was moving to Los Angeles tomorrow to live in my new master's home-_

 _-Nineteen, I put my heart and soul into my craft. I was going to be a master of this, nobody would tell me different-_

 _-Twenty and alone. My master abandoned me, stating that I learned too slowly and that I didn't have the talent she wanted in an apprentice. I was slow because I wanted to perfect each spell, not because I was bad at it. I'd prove her wrong-_

 _-His Majesty's assistant was gorgeous. Red hair and blue eyes, pale skin and the voice of an angel, I was half in love. Lady Annie said she liked what I could do with my magic, and that His Majesty would appreciate my talents if I joined the Investigation. I was properly in love now-_

 _-Twenty-two, confused. My brother reached out to me for the first time in years. Mum had died in a car accident. I may have been estranged, but my family needed me-_

 _-The funeral was simple. Less that fifty people were there. I'd never seen my bear of a dad break down in tears like that. He apologized to me and offered to teach me some things as reparation. I didn't want to be back in this house, but…-_

 _-Twenty-three and content. Dad was serious when he said he'd teach me some things. Surprisingly, I found myself not wanting to learn much. I still hadn't mastered my Lokin magic, and that was my goal. I still took a few suggestions though-_

 _-His Majesty gave the order. I was to go the Maine to look for independent mages. Why? I was finally getting my life together-_

Her eyes snapped open and Heather found her equilibrium.

It was hard to see with everything being so chaotic, but there were two things Heather could make out. James's body was thrashed around just next to her, his grip on the axe still firm even under all this strain. And, below him she could make out the faintest of lights, which meant that below was above. She was turned upside down.

Heather concentrated, trying her best to ignore the pain in her lungs. It was difficult to invoke magic without an incantation, requiring either total control and understanding of the spell in question or an extremely high level of adrenaline; this case most definitely falling under the latter. A circular platform of glowing pink runes took shape just below her feet, and upon touching it she shot forward, grabbing James by the middle; he snaked his free arm around her waist in a near immediate response. A second platform, larger and brighter took shape above them. James was the one in position this time and slammed his feet down on it. They were rocketed towards the light.

They crashed through a wooden floorboard, slapping into the house walls and, while in pain all over, were finally able to breathe once more. Heather let out a strong gasp, the water in her lungs expelling painfully. James did the same next to her. They were out of the basement, but Stapeln wasn't dry. In fact, most of its floor was flooded.

Heather took slow, deliberate gulps of air, trying to calm the panic of her body. From the corner of her eye, she saw picture floating just to her left. A family portrait, where James as a child sat between a blonde woman with green eyes and a brown-haired man with an easy smile on the front steps of Stapeln.

The cabin was an absolute mess, what was left of it at any rate. James's furniture was in pieces, his pictures and paintings were floating along with all manner of debris. The floorboards were destroyed, as were the back walls that faced the lake. It couldn't even be called a cabin anymore.

Half of the place was missing, sunken under the strong waves. It appeared to have felt the fury of a hurricane.

' _It's a ruin,'_ Heather thought, staring guiltily at the remnants of the log cabin. _'A ruin I made.'_ If she hadn't shown up here, if she hadn't been so bloody curious, all of this could have been avoided. She should have just let the basement hatch be, calling her superiors and asking for aid like a smart witch.

Noise pattered from her side. James was standing, heavily leaning on the axe as if it were a cane. He looked so… off. Though it hadn't even been half an hour since they'd met, Heather couldn't have imagined him with such a look. He was indescribably sad. Worse, he was sad and old. His laugh lines were now jagged, harsh wrinkles; his beard an ash grey, and his hair was falling out.

Wading through the water, Heather made her way towards him and did the only thing she could. Grabbing his wrist, she pried the axe out of his hand. He fought, _oh he fought_ , but he was weak and tired. Holding the axe, Heather felt empowered. She was no fool. Having seen the affect it had on James, she embedded the crescent blade of the axe into the rotted wood below and released it. Just from holding it for that scant few seconds, she felt a few months older.

"James I-"

The boom of thunder overhead cut her off. Looking up, she felt her eyes dilate. The sky that was once blue was now a dark shade of purple, the dark rain clouds were orange and the sun behind them blared out darkness. It was _wrong_.

Water quickly started to coalesce, moving mechanically back towards the lake. Only, it was taking form. All the leftover lake water was rising, coming together and shaping what seemed to be an animal. It had four legs, a large body and a pair of decidedly dangerous horns, sticking out from its bovine face and jutting forward like lances. It was an ox, standing half the size of a mountain.

The ox let out a loud, mournful cry; its voice made Heather shiver.

' _That's a Divine Beast.'_ Heather had seen one once before, the weakened form of the Quetzalcoatl that was hunting His Majesty for slaying Tezcatlipoca. That was also the day that Heather learned the power of the Campione; King Smith unleashed his full might and decimated the winged serpent quickly and efficiently. She also heard him cursing his luck, for he did not get any Authorities from slaying the Divine Beast.

' _Divine Beasts normally are summoned or subordinate to others.'_ She thought furiously. _'There's no way an ox could use an axe, so where is its master?'_

Her question was answered. The orange clouds parted, and the from the blackened sun a colossal figure descended. The figure was obviously male, she could see as he fell. He landed right in front of the ruins of Stapeln, so tall was he that the highest trees barely touched his hip.

He was a rugged looking man, with a great black beard and clear blue eyes. He wore loose yellow overalls, black rain boots that reached his kneecaps, and a grey plaid shirt with rolled up sleeves. He was extremely muscular, his upper body look more akin to a gorilla than a man, and atop his small patch of black hair was a simple blue hat with the name _Paul_ on it.

Well, that settled who he was quite easily.

"Paul Bunyan." James wheezed out, his now milky green eyes open and wide in… admiration?

The Heretic God scowled darkly at the name, **"Keep that accursed name off of mine person, thief. It were the mortals of this land who named me such, yet tis not who I be."**

Heather swallowed. His booming voice sent tremors down her spine. "Who are you then, so that I may let the people know?"

Rather than answer her, the Heretic God shone with a pale-yellow light and began to shrink. No longer was he the size of a building, and instead he was just over two meters high. It was likely the smallest he could go.

" **I am the law of North!"** He bellowed, stepping closer and closer towards the downed pair. Heather scrambled back with James as firmly in her arms as she could. **"The bringer of springs! He who shepherded the speakers! I am Justice incarnate!"**

With one last step he stood right in front of the pair, his axe raised high. It was a rusted, ugly looking double-bladed woodcutting axe, yet under the rust was strong and sturdy steel. Paul dropped the axe, its weight scattering wood and dirt all over the place, and reached for the golden crescent axe.

Upon grasping it, he began to change before Heathers eyes. His bulky appearance thinned out, his rugged looks turned sharp and gaunt, and his short hair turned long and styled. The gold of the axe travelled up his arm and over the whole of his body, save for his face, like armor; the patternless roots that decorated the pommel of the axe cascaded over the armor, twisting to form the image of a gnarled, leafless tree.

" **I am Fosite!"**

.

' _And here I thought today couldn't get any worse.'_

Going from taking a stranger into his home, to her finding a basement filled with corpses, to finding an axe that made him old, to nearly drowning and having his house flooded, to summoning a _god?!_

There was no question. Today was the worst day of James's life. Period. His divorce? Nothing. His fathers death? Uncomparable. His mothers death? A blip in the radar.

"My Lord Fosite," Heather knelt, her head bowed in deference. He could tell that she was trying her damned to butter up the Heretic God that stood in what used to be his living room. "Why have you descended to the mortal plane?"

" **Hmph, the truth shall usher my rule. Very well. Twas centuries ago, a God Slayer approached me. He held the power of Chain and Hearth, and whilst I did not perish in our melee, I was sundered of mine Axe. I hunted him, yet another God had taken mine kill and triumph. The Power that was lost in our battle did not return. The fool passed it down to his descendants, who sailed to lands afar."**

"Early immigrants…" Heather whispered.

" **Sundered, I was weak. I could not cross the sea without mine Weapon."** He emphasized this by lifting it, and James watched transfixed as the golden axe suddenly shifted into the shape of an oar, the armor Fosite wore morphing at the base of his feet into that of a boat. They returned to normal in only a moment, for the god was done with his example. **"Thus, I sent the Sacrifice to search for the Axe. I was truly weakened, and bereft of mine Power was smote by another God Slayer."**

Fosite began to sneer, his deep blue eyes turning malicious. **"Yet, here I stand. Returned! Unknowingly, I guaranteed Revival. Mine Weapon and Sacrifice sealed in one place, each waiting for the others release. Their freedom beckoned me."**

"But where did the tale of Paul Bunyan come from?" James asked, coughing. His newly aged body hurt.

" **From the descendants of mine prey."** Fosite growled, looking pointedly at James. What did that look mean? **"Clever creatures, they twisted mine tale to all that would hear it, turning me into a worker, a plebian in the eyes of other Gods. They added foolishness to mine legend, giving name to the Sacrifice;** _ **Babe**_ **."** He sounded genuinely disgusted just from saying that word. **"True, I gained new Power… But I reject it. A God does not keep with the masses. I shall be their master, not their champion."**

He then spat on the rusted axe, glaring holes into the weapon.

His demeaner changed once more. Gone was the malicious sneer, and instead it was replaced by a look of joyous comradery as he stared at Heather. **"And ye were the instrument of Return! A boon is owed, and so it shall be given. To what is desired? Power? A weapon from mine armory? Riches to last a lifetime? Sons that carry the essence Justice? Speak and it shall be done, witch."**

She shivered at his gaze. James would have to, had he not already been shivering from weary bones.

Heather licked her lips. "I need time to… think, my lord. Allow me this, and you shall have your answer."

Fosite narrowed his eyes, **"Appear before the Sacrifice in an hour hence. If ye do not, I shall choose the boon mineself. It will be the gift of strong sons."**

With that, he stalked away, golden armor clinking with every movement.

James turned to Heather, only for her to faint on the spot. He shook her, struggling. She awoke quickly, but certainly not emotively.

"James, I've doomed us." She was so defeated, so morose.

He didn't care.

"You did," he stated plainly. "So what are you gonna do about it?"

Heather whirled on him, her eyes lit up in rage. "Don't you _see?!_ I can't do anything! That's a _Heretic God_! Worse, he thinks I'm the one that released him!"

"Once again," James growled. "You did. _So what are you gonna do about it?_ "

Her body was shaking as she started to move her hands. She dug through the pockets of her jeans and withdrew her phone, trying desperately to operate it. It wasn't turning on.

"No! No, no, no, no, no... I can't reach them! I can't contact the Investigation... There's nothing to be done." She groused, tears tracking along her cheekbones. "I just have to ask that he not hurt anybody, that he go on his way and leave us be."

"But you said that Heretic Gods were destruction incarnate. Do you really think he'll not do what he's been wanting to do just because you ask?"

"…No," she bit out. "But it's the only thing I _can_ do. I can't contact the Investigation, which means I can't tell them about Fosite. King Smith can't come here to kill him. _I have no other options._ Unless you have a better idea, smart guy?"

Wordlessly, James pointed at the axe that was oh so innocently laying on what could formerly be called his floorboards. "You said the only thing that can kill a god is something else that's godly. We have that, right there."

Her eyes were wide and glassy, her mouth agape. Her shaking began anew, only this time there was laughter accompanying it. She laughed and _laughed_ , cackling as if she were a hyena about to feast. She was mad, her hysterics uneven and almost painful to watch.

"You- You want to _kill a Heretic God?!_ HA! That's impossible!"

Tired and pissed off and oh so _bloody done with it all_ , James let go of any sense of propriety. With a roar, he slapped her across the face, hard enough to make her fall to her side. Now she wasn't laughing. With a struggle, he heaved her by the collar of her shirt and got right in her face. Their noses were less than a few inches apart.

"Listen and listen fucking well you damned bitch," James hissed, glaring right into her wide brown eyes. "Because of you I am an old man. I lost my house and you've started more chaos than I knew was possible. I won't let this end just because you say it ends when _it's all your fault to begin with!_ I am _dying_ because of you, and there is no way I'll settle for passing on from old age at 23. I doubt you want to settle as a baby factory for him either. So, we're going to fight. If I die, I'm going to die well. If we live, we've fixed the problem you made. But we will not do _nothing_. Do. You. Under. Stand?"

She was still shaking, eyes darting side to side. Eventually, after minutes had passed, she took a deep, calming breath and gave a short nod. She still looked scared as all could be, but she was stable. For now.

Grunting, James pushed her away and sat down, letting his legs stretch. They popped painfully, but he ignored it.

"Now, who is Fosite?"

"Fresian God of Justice, Travelers and Springs." Heather promptly reported, her voice hoarse.

"What else? What's so significant about the axe? Does he control Babe? Does Babe act like a normal bull? Can he become a giant again? Tell me _everything_."

Heathers face contorted. She furrowed her brow and bit her lip. "It's… Hard to put it all into the right words. I could show you, I guess." She looked miserable as she admitted such. Well, more miserable. This whole situation was miserable.

Slow and wary, James nodded his acceptance. Heather scooted closer, her face growing progressively more revulsed, until they were as close as they were when James was yelling at her. She gripped his beard and tilted his head down. Just as he made to voice his confusion her mouth covered his, and her tongue rolled over his own.

 _The Lord of Fositesland-A sacred spring which water had to be drawn in silence, it was so holy-baptizing people in its waters-sacrificing oxen in communion-the twelve representatives lost at sea-the thirteenth to board the boat, clad in gold and axe in hand-drifting them to land-throwing the axe, a spring of white water took form-banging the gavel and sentencing criminals-_

On and on they came. Stories and folk tales and theories- Heather forced the information that pertained to Fosite into James's head. It almost seemed to much, but it was needed regardless. James came to know everything that there was to know about Fosite, everything that Heather knew of him and the nature of Heretic Gods and their Divine Beasts and Authorities. He also was given the understanding of what magic Heather could perform, without the context to perform it himself.

Finally, her tongue curled back into her own mouth and her lips left his, a trail of saliva stretching between them. She looked green and started to spit loogies onto the ground, but James didn't really care.

He stared at her, then looked to where Fosite had departed from and settled onto the axe that lay next to him. He grabbed it and felt the information she'd just given him resonate with the weapon, and then he _knew_.

"I have a plan.

* * *

 _ **One Hour Later…**_

 _ **The Remnants of Clayton Lake**_

It was a marvel in itself to see the underside of a lake without the liquid that made a lake such. Muck and mud were hardened, plants were dying, thousands upon thousands of fish _were_ dead, and there were a few vehicles strewn about, including the bed of a truck and a rusted, barnacle covered little boat.

But the most eye-catching thing was the Heretic God that was in the middle of the lakes remains, with an ox made of the lakes water that stood four times his size behind him. Fosite looked impatient, grumbling idly and tapping his finger against a throne of gold, where he sat in grandeur.

Heather took a deep breath, James behind her by a few feet, and made towards the God.

" **Ye come."** Fosite rumbled. **"I am gladdened. Ask your boon so I may begin mine vengeance."**

"My Lord Fosite," Heather began, her voice clear and scripted. "I have one request: that you do not take your vengeance. That you leave the peoples here in peace and return to the Domain of Immortality."

Fosite stared at her, long and hard, before abruptly breaking into a mocking laugh. **"AH-hahahaha! A most amusing request, witch! Ye think your boon is worth mine vengeance?"**

All amusement left him as he leaned down, his massive face nearly the size of Heathers torso. **"I think not. I shall find all those who believe in** _ **Paul Bunyan**_ **and stamp them from existence. I will sow their homes with salt and blood, so no life shall grow from where they once lived. Then, I shall do as all Gods do; hunt the Campione. They shall die, carved by mine Axe and drowned by mine Power."**

Heather shuddered, as did James from behind. That proclamation was descriptive, and more than that it was horrifying. While nobody worshipped the gods, the folk tale of Paul Bunyan is still quite popular in the north-west. There was even a college football rivalry between the Minnesota Golden Gophers and the Wisconsin Badgers, where the winner of their game would receive a trophy axe called Paul Bunyan's Axe.

There were hundreds of thousands of people that watched that game annually, and millions that graduated from both schools still alive. Fosite would kill them all, their families included.

"Then…" Heather took a breath. "Then I ask something else. The man who pulled your axe from his prison requests a bout of honorable combat to the death."

Now Fosite's amusement returned, and it was far greater than before. **"The old man? The one that could barely stand? HA! Very well, I shall grant him with a swift death. There is honor in dying by the hand of a God."**

"My lord, I must clarify. He did not request a swift death, he requests honorable combat. In this regard, he desires for the both of you would to be at your full power."

Fosite looked genuinely confused. **"And that would not be a swift death?"**

James spoke then. "It might be a quick death, but I only became this old when I brought your axe to the surface."

"He wishes for you to heal him of his early aging," Heather finished. " _Then_ the pair of you would fight, once more at your full might. You, in your largest form, and him, in his prime."

Fosite still looked confused, but regardless of said confusion he did as asked. His eyes shone a molten gold and James's youth returned in an instant. He took a deep, steadying breath and flexed his body.

" **Why do ye wish to die, mortal?"**

"I cut trees for a living," James shrugged, noticing Fosites glower. "Based on what you just said, since I knew about Paul Bunyan I was going to die anyways. Might as well go out fighting, right?"

A rumbling noise of approval spilled forth from the Heretic Gods throat. **"Few are those that face certain death so brazenly. Name yourself, champion. That I might remember ye in the time to come."**

"James Morris," he said shortly.

" **Your name shall not be forgotten, James Morris. I shall name mine first son by that witch in your honor!"**

"What!?" Heather shrieked. "I don't want that boon! I already asked for one and you're doing it right now!"

" **It matters not,"** Fosite shrugged. **"Talk of sons has made me desire such. Ye shall bare them, for ye are fertile and fair and I am a God. So it has been said, so it shall be."**

With that, his body once more lit up in that pale-yellow light, and in a flash he returned to the size he descended down as. He stood just a head shorter than Babe, and with his crescent blade axe in hand and the throne of gold receding into his armor, he looked far more menacing than Paul Bunyan did in the few moments he existed.

" **And now, the combat begiNS-?!"**

James smirked. Just as Fosite announced the beginning of the fight, Babes horns pierced his chest. The bull looked horribly lost, and Fosite was quick to grow wroth with anger.

" **WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, MORTAL?!"**

"Don't you know?" Heather asked, smirking. From her hand, a red cloth materialized. An illusion. "Bulls don't like the color red."

"That's not really true, but it's what people _believe_." James announced, grinning. "Heretic Gods get their power from belief, so why wouldn't other things that are widely believed be just as real when if comes to you lot?"

"I created a giant illusion of a red banner between you and Babe," Heather announced. "You were too preoccupied with us to even notice or care, but Babe? That was all Babe could see, and he did what people believe he's supposed to do."

With a roar, Fosite dispelled Babe, and all the water from Clayton crashed down without the ox to hold it. Heather was quick to summon another pair of platforms for her and James to stand on, which floated far above the splash zone. The environment returned to the way it was meant to, with far more damage.

" **A true,** _ **true**_ **witch."** Fosite growled, blue eyes blazing. Even with the lake back in place, most of his upper body was visible. His armor suddenly shifted, a golden boat lifting him to the lakes surface. His scalp touched the orange clouds. **"When this farce ends, I shall enjoy your suffering."**

"You might," Heather said, trying to hide the sliver of panic in her voice. The plan was _working, damnit!_ "But there are other things you should be worried about."

" **And** _ **what**_ **,"** He hissed. **"Would that be? You have spent your trick. The Sacrifice is gone. You have** _ **nothing!**_ **"**

"I have one thing, actually. Something I already told you about, but you've chosen not to remember."

" **Enlighten me, witch."**

Heather grinned so widely it almost hurt. "Instead of talking to James and forgetting about me like you did with Babe, you were preoccupied talking to me and forgot about James."

Snarling, Fosite looked to the platform that James was stood on. His armor shifted once more, forming a spear of gold that sped towards him, burying itself into his belly.

Only, while it did, it didn't.

James evaporated into smoke. The _real_ James, not the second illusion Heather crafted, appeared ten feet from said illusions left side. He used the platform Heather made and rocketed towards Fosite, a familiar, rusted axe in hand.

Fosite finally understood and began to give in to panic. **"NO! It shall not be done!"** His armor twisted once more, growing golden spikes that jutted from every visible corner.

James saw all that. Even if he wanted to avoid it, he couldn't. Instead, with a roar he held the rusted axe aloft, swinging downward, intent on slashing into the massive deity. His plan did not go as intended.

From where Fosite had impaled the illusion Heather crafted, a pair of spears formed, stabbing James through his right leg and stomach. He cried out in agony. Heather almost vomited once more, the gore so noticeable. His shin was barely hanging on by a few strands of muscle; his bone was visible and shredded.

 **"A fine attempt,"** Fosite rumbled in approval. **"A fine, _fine_ attempt, James Morris. Were it not for mine Power and Armor, I would have been slain. To nearly kill a God... I shall give ye a chance, mortal. Ye shall be mine herald and champion mine banner! Serve me in all things, and your past shall be forgiven and your wounds healed."**

James barked out a laugh, blood dribbling from his mouth, coating his pearly white teeth in red. "I... _refuse!_ "

 **"Such stubbornness,"** Fosite marveled, eyebrows raised. His eyes narrowed then. **"I suppose it matters not. Mine offer was foolish. Ye may attempt to slay me in the future. This cannot be allowed, for mine kingdom is to last a thousand mortal lifetimes."**

And so, the golden spikes on Fosites armor began a slow, lethargic journey towards James's prone form. The Heretic God held a look of pity, but resolved was blaring in his actions.

James himself was shaking, muttering as he was an impending doom approach. Heather could barely hear his words, and she prayed and _prayed_ that this worked. This was his last resort, that which he gleaned from the knowledge she'd gifted him and his possession of the axe.

"...Strength to move... mountains. Strength to... form rivers. ...Strength... to shape... land..."

Fosite heard his word loud and clear, and his panic returned with a vengeance. He let out a loud, almost feminine sound as the spikes on his armor moved quicker, wiggling as his body moved. The boat he stood upon was treading water, moving towards the riverbank, towards Heathers location. Her sweat felt like a waterfall, it was so much.

"...With axe in hand..." James continued. "I am... Power Inc **arnATE!** "

Just before the spikes hit him, white smoke rippled out from his body. His muscles bulged, growing to almost inhuman levels, and with a grunt of effort he broke the spears sticking out from his body.

Heather quickly summoned one last platform, just beneath his feet. He fell onto it with a heep, wounds on fire as he screamed. The spikes missed him by just a hair. James didn't delay. He coiled his left leg and, with his newly accessed strength, shot towards Fosite, easily thrice the speed in which Heather could have sent him. There was a loud _squelch_ , and Heather feared the worst.

He was impaled by even more spikes, five the size of his arm digging through his torso, two more dug through his left thigh and his right leg was now severed from the knee down.

But it didn't _matter_. The axe was buried in Fosites heart, breaking through the armor. The giant choked, golden ichor spilling on James's head from between his lips. The blood soothed his pain, allowing him to hear what the Heretic God had to say.

" **Ahhh… Clever mor…tal…"** wheezed the God of Justice. **"So** _ **bloody**_ _ **clever**_ **…"**

" **MY PLAN… WOuldn't have… wor** ked… if you weren't… so cocky." James croaked, power fading. The payment the axe demanded was quick to take toll, his youthful form replaced by an old, wrinkle covered man without any hair atop his scalp. He was thinner than a twig now, his bones snapping just from being stretched. That was fine, he knew he was done for in any case. He'd accepted death the moment he let go of Fosite's golden axe and felt the effects of age. To be able to do this much was more than he could have asked for.

" **Using mine discard… heh! A fool amongst fools! A mortal using a Gods power!"** Fosite laughed, coughing at the same time. **"Very well! The tools used to slay me… They are yours. Take the Axe I foolishly threw away… Take the Bull… Use mine Strength... Educate the masses… Take mine name away from Paul Bunyan…** _ **God Slayer!**_ **"**

In an explosion of golden light, Fosite's colossal body imploded, throwing James towards the raging currents of the lake. Heather was barely able to summon another platform to halt him. She hovered him towards her, slow and steady, and after grabbing him she brought herself and him to the shore.

Looking down, she saw it happen. The wounds Fosite inflicted upon his body were healing, even the missing leg was returning. His muscles were deepening, if he had any old wounds they would heal back up in a jiffy. His youth returned once more. Hells, even the hair he'd lost returned. He looked just as he had when she'd first met him.

From the center of the rushing lakewater, two spheres shot towards James. The axe in his hand turned to dust, the dust rising to form a third sphere. The three of them floated above his body, circling each other in concert. Heather saw the symbols on them, one holding a woodcutter's axe, another looking like a flexing man, while the last was a pair of bull horns. They merged into one another, forming a single orb of power and sunk into his body, vanishing as if they never existed. It was official, James did it. He was now a Campione.

Tired, weak and hopped up on adrenaline the likes of which she'd never felt before, Heather fell on her ass and began to laugh. Her cackle was near manic, it was so strong.

Her energy left her, the laughing stopped and she fell down on James's hip. Her eyes closed involuntarily, and she only had one thought before passing out.

What a day.

* * *

James was barely able to open his eyes, he was so tired.

He lethargically felt for where there should have been holes in his body, where his leg was curiously present when it shouldn't have been there. They were sealed, though the holes in his clothes were very much there.

He looked around. His vision was blurry. It seemed as if he was in a room of nothingness; the skyline wasn't white, it was the whole room. It looked like he was sat in the middle of a cloud, without the water or coldness.

"The conditions have been met."

James felt those words pierce his soul. Looking up, it was as if she teleported; either putting herself underneath him or putting his head in her lap. While the voice was foreign to him and the purple hair strange, he looked at those green eyes and remembered the woman that raised him as a child.

"Mom?"

The voice paused, before rubbing a gentle set of circles on his temples. "If you truly meant to call me that, I would be beside myself with joy. Alas, the Netherworld fools us all, my son. If only you could fix that…"

 _My son_

She called him her son.

"Fix what? Do you need me to do something?" He hadn't done anything for his mother in a long time. Death could do that to a person.

The woman laughed, sounding like tinkling bells. "Ah! If only. Hmm… I do need you to do something, I need you to _live_. There are things coming that you cannot prepare for. Treat each day like it's your last. Go on vacation, father some children, see the world through your own eyes. Make me proud."

"…I will, mom." And with that, James fell asleep.

Pandora snickered. Most of her children came to her in this sort of sorry state after slaying their first Heretic God. It was only when they began gaining more Authorities that she could talk to them properly, if they remembered it at all.

And so, she began her chant.

"The Black Art the Epimetheus and I left behind-

"-The sacred Birth of an illegitimate Child-

"-Shrouded in Darkness-

"-Born of a Fool and a Witch."

"A secret rite of Usurpation-

"-Only possible through the Sacrifice of a God."

His body dissolved into particles of darkness as she spoke, leaving her alone. Pandora did not mind, she was accustomed to it.

"Rise my son, and take your place as a King above Kings. I name you, Campione!"

* * *

Far around the world, seven individuals startled as the essence of power was once more felt throughout the world.

An elderly man sat on a throne in Hungary narrowed his eyes and grinned darkly. Wolves chorused by his side in anticipation. New prey had come.

A middle-eastern woman who had been tending to the fever of a small child in Libya found a smile blossom over her face. A new sibling had been born. Oh, what a happy day!

Sat in a library in the Netherlands that he hadn't had permission to enter was a black-hair man, youthful in looks. He sniffed, staring towards the west with a frown. What a pain in the arse.

A blonde man who had been eating dinner in Rome looked up in glee. "Is that- Oh boy! Andrea! Start the car!"

And, in Japan, the land of the Rising Sun, three others felt the surge of power, having just slain Sun Wukong.

"What was that?" A black haired, Japanese teen asked his compatriots.

"Oh, of course my honored brother would not know, for he was the youngest of us before now." Hummed a beautiful Chinese woman.

"The ascendence of a new Campione." Announced a masked man. More than that, he felt wary. That power… It came from America.

It came from his home.

* * *

 **I felt pretty proud of this one. The battle scene might not be super over-the-top on the gods perspective, but I would like to believe that I created an interesting dynamic and used a Heretic God nobody had considered.**

 **So! We finally have our newest Campione. James Morris, slaying of the Frisian God of Justice Fosite, whose Authorities were in Steel and Nature.**

 **I won't be giving an Authority expose right now. I'll save that for chapter three, but it's not super hard to guess what he's got, though there is one curveball you might not expect. I just have to figure out some particulars, including the aria chants and the names of these Authorities. I will say that he gained one true Authority, with a few different abilities, one of which can only be activated after the end of the other. Part of one of them is a passive pseudo-authority, something that doesn't require a chant and can be used instantaneously.**

 **I'm sure there's gonna be some hate for Heather. Go ahead, let me have it. She made her mistakes and made up for it in the final fight, being the only reason James even had a shot at killing Fosite. Don't like her? I didn't write a likeable character, I wrote a character that got the story along. Deal with it.**

 **If you liked this please Favorite/Follow and don't forget to Review!**


	3. The Eighth King

**The first Heretic God has been slain, and I am deeply touched by the responses you all have given me. These comments and well-wishers have made my month. Honestly, I'm feeling pretty blessed.**

 **I won't say that all the Heretic Gods that James slays will be as unique as that one, but I will say that they will all have their own flavor and reasons for descending. Fosite descended in search of his lost power, while the next one will descend due to the loss of his/her kingdom. There's a difference, so let's see if you guys can figure this one out! I will say, this next enemy will be more well known.**

 **As always, remember to Review after you've read this chapter! It keeps me going.**

"James" – Regular Speech

' _This sucks…!'_ – Thoughts

" **God Slayer"** – Heretic God

" _ **Lightning!"**_ – Magic Spell/Authority

 **Chapter 3: The Eighth King**

" _Country roads, take me home~"_

Slowly, James awoke. Above him was not an open sky, nor was it a tree-lined canopy. Instead, he was looking at the interior of a vehicle. The sound of country music was softly coming from speakers near his head.

" _To the place I belong~"_

It wasn't just the car speakers, somebody was singing. Groggily, he turned his head towards the origin of the song. He'd been lain in the back seat of an SUV, his head propped against a ratty little rucksack.

Sitting up, he caught sight of Heather driving the car. There she was, her blond hair splaying over her shoulders like a lion's mane. She was holding a toothbrush like a microphone in one hand while the other held the steering wheel.

" _WEST VIRGINIA!"_ she sang, surprisingly well. Heather had a pleasantly low voice. **"** _Mountain mamma, take me home~_

Pleasant or not, the sight of Heather acting as if she were on American Idol at the driver's seat made him snort out a laugh.

" _Country ro-…_ ads." Heather finished, awkwardly. She craned her neck around to see him, a deep flush creeping up her neck. "Ah…" she squeaked. "Good morning, my king."

"My king?" James asked, bemused.

"That is what you are. A King above Kings, a Campione." Heather said, attempting to speak demurely. Her blush was receding quickly. Sneakily, she dropped the toothbrush in her passenger seat.

James stared at her, his eyes flickering. Then, the actions from earlier began to creep back into his mind now that his sleepiness was waning; Fosite, using the axe, death, a green-eyed woman in a cloudy room.

Heather called him a Campione.

"It worked?" Had he really done it? Killed a god?

"Indeed, my king." Heather said, smiling lightly. She turned back to the road, casually jerking the wheel past a fallen log. They were on a dirt road James didn't recognize. "I was witness to see Fosite's power enter you and heal your body. You've been out of it for a good few hours."

"How long is a good few hours?" James scratched his head, lost in thought. "And where'd this car come from?"

She paused. James could see her eyeing him strangely from her mirror; probably wondering why he asked such a random question. "You've been asleep for almost seven hours at this point; we're almost done driving. And this is not a car, it's a jeep. The difference matters."

He scoffed.

Red creeped back into her cheeks. " _Anyway_ , this is the jeep I rented from the Investigation; I got it from a small base in Caratunk that's used for general supplies. It's an honest miracle that it only got scratched up. We aren't going to Caratunk, by the way. We're going to Brunswick."

"Brunswick?" James didn't have a clue what was over there, nor did he know where Caratunk even was. Honestly, he knew little about the geography of Maine; the only reason he was able to reach Stapeln was because he hitchhiked with a friendly trucker.

"The airport is there." Heather primly stated.

 _Ah_. His flight had come from Portland, not Brunswick.

With a grunt James fell back onto the rucksack, his mind awhirl. It was just- how could he describe it? Earlier today – _or was it yesterday?_ – he'd been an ordinary man going through a rut, and now he was supposed to be some kind of magical king? It seemed ridiculous, almost unbelievable.

But James remembered. He remembered the beam of light, remembered exploring the hidden basement in his cabin, remembered walking through the flames and grabbing the golden axe.

He remembered challenging a god, somehow succeeding.

James looked down. Indeed, the forced aging he'd gone through when using Paul Bunyan's axe had disappeared. He looked just as he did before all of that malarkey happened.

But he wasn't the same.

James could feel it; could feel the differences. He was… _stronger_. Looking out the window, he was able to see far more than ever before- he could make out ants crawling on the bark of a tree from what seemed to be over half a mile away. He could breath far better than ever before, and he seemed light as a feather. Idly, he rubbed at his body.

 _'It's been a long time since I had proper abs.'_ Indeed, he could feel the flat muscles on his body. All of his muscles were more defined, in fact. If he looked in the mirror, he'd probably have the body he had at seventeen, when he was a member of the weight training club.

And there was something else that was new about him, something he couldn't rightly describe.

Furrowing his brow, James closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the newness that he was feeling.

"You said that something from Fosite entered my body?"

"It melded with you, becoming a your own." Heather corrected. "Upon slaying Fosite, you gained his power, which became your Authority. That is what makes you a Campione."

The best way to describe it was that it was _power_ , James concluded lamely. It was a torrent of pure, untainted energy, taking the form of a constellation in his mind with four stars, three large ones and one small one. It actually reminded him of that one time he played Skyrim with his old high school group of friends; the constellation having much in common with the skill trees from the game. The small star connected them all, and when lines formed the stars took on the image of an axe. Each star represented a different power, but they were all one single Authority.

James reached out and made to touch the small star. Upon doing so, he saw an image of himself, summoning the rusty axe he slew Fosite with; the axe of Paul Bunyan. The small star felt needy… almost like it was desperate to be titled.

" _ **[Axe of Old]**_ " he decided, mumbling.

He then reached out for one of the larger stars, which made up the top part of the blade of the axe in the constellation. This one, he was familiar with. This was the power he used to kill Fosite. The image it offered showed James bulging with muscles, steam sprouting from him instead of sweat. With a casual swing of the axe, he split rocks and trees. He jumped and shot upward like a rocket. He lifted a bus as if it were a paperweight.

" _ **[Herculean Legacy]**_ " James nodded. It granted him superhuman strength, the strength that Paul Bunyan was known to possess. The name seemed appropriate.

Then, James looked to the second large star, which connected to the star representing _**[Herculean Legacy]**_ , forming the blade of the axe in the constellation. This one, unlike the other two, was unfamiliar. The image showed James standing at the goal post of a football field. The image was holding the axe, only the axe _grew_ – reaching the other end of the football field, the blade of the axe gigantifying as the axe elongated. It was as if the axe grew to the size it would have needed to be should Fosite have wielded it in his full power.

The image twisted on itself, now showing James stood in front of Mt. Rushmore. With axe in hand, he swiped it at the air, the massive blade cutting straight through the mountain as if it were a piece of paper. George Washington's massive bust fell on top of a tourist.

What the hell?

" _ **[Woodcutters Avatar]**_ feels right…" James muttered. The dead tourist bit startled him.

The last large star was located at the base of the constellation, the hilt of the axe. Through it, James was able to see one last image of himself. In this one, he did not have the axe in hand, though he looked battered and tired. Next to him was a lake. With a roar, the lake shot out, its waters taking on the form of Babe, who rammed into a blurry enemy without mercy.

James understood that he was able to summon Babe using this power, but he couldn't place how to do so. There was a… a restriction. Of some sort.

" _ **[Blue Ox]**_ " he decided, shrugging his shoulders. The name may have been obvious, but it was well deserved all the same.

The culmination of all of these, the constellation itself, now thrummed with that same desire to be named.

" _ **[Mighty Lumberjack]**_ " was what James chose. The totality of all the power he gained from slaying Fosite.

Upon naming all of them, words streamed into his mind. The knowledge to call forth his newfound power was his, just as this power was his. The arias to use his newfound Authority become known, matching both the abilities he gained and the language he preferred to use.

All of his power seemed to stem from the _**[Axe of Old]**_. In order to use both _**[Herculean Legacy]**_ and _**[Woodcutters Avatar]**_ he had to have the axe in hand.

But how did he summon Babe? The vision showed he didn't have the axe, unlike the other two. Could he summon it whenever he liked? No, that didn't feel right either. There was a detail he was missing, James was certain.

' _Questions for another time'_ James mused. He was in a car, not in a fight. There was time to figure out his newfound power. Right now, there were more pressing matters.

Such as…

"Heather, when we reached the airport, what were you planning on doing?"

"I was, ah- hoping you'd be willing to fly to New York City with me. We're pretty close by to one of the Investigations main bases, and my bosses need to know about you."

Involuntarily, James felt his eyes narrow. "Why do they need to know about me?"

"Because we now have an eighth deterrent against Heretic Gods and that we now have two Campione in America." She shuddered. Just in front of the car, the dirt road hit gravel pavement, and the ride smoothened out.

"I guess I understand the first bit," he allowed, inwardly struggling. Killing Fosite was one thing, but did he really want to tangle with other gods? "But what does it matter about there being two Campione in one place?"

" _Everything_ ," she breathed fearfully. "The act of defying a Heretic God is the- the _highest_ level of stubbornness there is. Those few who happen to slay said Heretic Gods then have that same stubbornness with the added ability to back it up. Most Campione tend to be extremely territorial, claiming lands as their own and guarding their borders with a violent fervor. When others attempt to claim that land… well, nothing good comes from that, I can guarantee that much. I genuinely think you are a good person, just as I believe John Pluto Smith is, but North America is his territory and it's unlikely he would be willing give up even an acre of it to another Campione, regardless of you being an American yourself."

"So I have to move away?" James asked, anger building. "I have to leave the only place I've ever known just to cater to this guy?"

"No, you do not _have_ to move." Heather quietly said. "But you would have to challenge him for land. It would be a fight against another Campione, somebody who has slain more Heretic Gods than you have and usurped their Authorities. You were clever enough to trick Fosite, but King Smith is not a Heretic God and would never be tricked in a similar way."

"He lives in California!" James protested. "I want nothing to do with the west coast! Hell, I don't want anything to do with the south either! Let me live in the north east like I always have. I just want to live my life, get some new land and make a cabin or something, none of this malarkey."

James had always been a simple man with simple wants. His free time was spent hunting and fishing and foraging, and in woodshops, making furniture and toys and whatever his muse bade him to create. He liked to make things with his bare hands, and one of his biggest goals was to make his own home, modelled after the now ruined Stapeln.

"The issue is that Campione are expected to rule established countries, not patches of land." Heather sighed, sounding genuinely sympathetic. "If you tried to live in America, even in a hidden part of Maine, he would consider you trying to usurp the whole country of America from him and that fight would happen no matter what. I'm sorry James… Maybe a different part of North America? There _is_ precedence where a Campione will offer land they own to another Campione so long as it's far enough away. Luo Hao gave Kusanagi Godou Japan because it was far enough away from China, even though she had been the ruler of east Asia for well over a century. I'm sure he'd be willing to barter for other countries that are within his territory. Greenland, perhaps?"

With a curse, James flopped back down onto the makeshift pillow he'd been using. It just wasn't fair. First he loses his wife, then his house and now he has to move to another country?

There was only one other country James would be willing to move to; Canada. His father was a Canadian citizen that moved to America for work, and James had been given the opportunity to be hold a duel-citizenship through that. He'd never used his citizenship, nor had he ever even visited Canada, but it had been an idea that he toyed with for a few years. Certainly, when he moved to Stapeln in the aftermath of his divorce, the prospect of moving to Canada was one that grew to be more and more appealing.

But considering the idea of moving to another country and being forced to do so were two very different occurrences.

Right now, that matter little. He didn't have a house anymore. He didn't have a car, or a boat. Hell, he lost his identifications when Fosite destroyed his home. James had _nothing_.

Frustrated, James closed his eyes. "Wake me up when we get there."

"Yes, my king." Heather sighed.

"And Heather?"

"Yes?"

"Don't call me a king. I have a name."

She was silent for a few minutes, and James barely heard a muttered "Alright m- James" before he fell asleep once more.

.

Being an illusionist came with more perks than other mages realized. True, Heather did not have much strength in direct combat, nor was her magic particularly useful in the preferred sense of support, but she could manipulate minds and distort perceptions, altering the world around others to suit her needs.

Some illusions were hard to perform while others were easy. The hardest ones she'd ever performed were created in the fight against Fosite. The cloth that fooled Babe was not only massive, but she also had to layer the illusion with a few more that were tailored specifically towards Babe; a voice that was taunting him from the other side of the cloth, a rustle of haunting wind to its sides, the echo of another cow that desperately wanted to mate and the alarm of a stampede happening just behind the Divine Beast. That she was able to create a near-perfect likeness of James immediately after was even more difficult. It was lucky that James had been wearing such baggy clothes; she only needed to make sure his body type and face were correct. Added to that, it was genuinely pure luck that Fosite was so enraged at being attacked by Babe that he didn't notice what was real and what was not. If he'd paid attention properly, Heather's scheme would never have worked, and she would have become his slave whilst James would have been buried in the dirt.

But this? When compared to what she went through yesterday, this was nothing.

The airport security clerk flashed James a quick smile and allowed him to pass. She checked what she thought was a license but was instead the receipt from when they purchased a new pair of clothes for James. The purchase was also done using an illusion of money.

Heather did not consider herself a thief, but she did what she had to do with the skills she worked hard to obtain.

James shunted his new backpack filled with clothes onto the conveyor belt and stood in line. People were being sent one by one through the mechanical scanners, checking for concealed objects. Unless he had some metal in his head, Heather knew he would be fine.

And he was indeed just fine. While it took longer than it should have for him to be processed, primarily because the woman in front of him tripped the alarm and had to be body searched, James was on the other side, just as Heather was.

After grabbing his gear and putting his shoes back on, James made his way towards her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his new kakis. It was a shame that he picked such simple clothes. When they went shopping at the small mall near the airport, all he purchased were some long pants, a new pair of sneakers, a few plain long-sleeve shirts and a beanie. Heather was the one that insisted he grab the backpack, so he could at least carry his newly bought clothes with him.

None of that mattered, though. He was still wearing the hoodie that was chock full of holes courtesy of Fosite piercing them.

"Why won't you get rid of that hoodie?" Heather asked, both bemused and annoyed. It was so tattered now, not something he should have been wearing in a public setting. It made him look bad, and her for associated with him. _'What was the point of us getting new clothes if he didn't even use them?'_

Not that she would ever say that aloud. He was a King now, even if he didn't like to be called such.

"It's a reminder," he shrugged. "I used to go hunting with my dad on weekends, and we would keep stuffed trophies of the game we caught if they were impressive. This jacket is legitimately all I have left from the fight against Fosite. I'm gonna see if I can turn it into a trophy too."

With a sigh, Heather said no more; if James wanted to keep his ugly hoodie, he could. He could have just stuffed it in the bag and wore one of the sweaters they bought, but whatever. She wasn't his minder.

Instead, she pivoted on her heel and searched for their terminal.

"The flight is pretty short," she said as they walked. "It'll be only about thirty minutes, maybe more if the weather wants to be a pain."

"Then why didn't we just drive there?" James asked, grimacing slightly.

"You'd rather drive for another five hours over a quick and easy flight?" She stared at him, her brow raised questioningly. Her eyebrow was a powerful thing, it had to be to handle her family without violence.

James's only response was a mumble.

"I'm sorry, what'd you say?" Heather asked, her eyebrow raised even higher.

His ears turned pink as he spoke. "I get a little anxious on planes. Normally I have some sleeping pills or something to help me out, but…"

Such was the power of her eyebrow.

Well, Heather could somewhat understand his annoyance. Still… _'A Campione that has plane anxiety, who could have guessed?'_ Regardless, they were here and the flight was supposed to depart in less than an hour. It was too late to change course, not that Heather would have.

When they reached the waiting area for their flight, Heather dug through her own backpack. She was quite minimal in what she bought as well, but she didn't settle for _only_ clothes. There were a few snack bars in the side pouches of her bag, and five paperback books, all denoting different mythological stories.

She grabbed one, simply titled _Rome_ , and handed it to James. He took it with a furrowed brow. Upon looking it over and skimming the summary, he wordlessly opened the book and began to read.

Heather figured he'd want to have something to pass the time. Morbid as it may have been, reading about his possible foes would definitely make time go by quickly. Heather was no stranger to doing such things herself, only instead of looking up mythologies and Heretic Gods, she did her best to see what kind of spells and abilities her fellow mages could perform. While she didn't know how to perform those spells, Heather _did_ produce a few strategies on how to trick the mages in question.

While James was reading, Heather looked around. It was morning, which should have been quite active, but the airport only housed a few hundred people. It must have been a slow day.

A few families were passing by, chatting amiably. An elderly woman was being carted in a wheel chair by a security officer, loudly bragging about her grandchildren. And, surprisingly enough, a business man was riding his suitcase as if it were a scooter. Heather couldn't help but watch him as he passed rows and columns and payphones, until he was out of sight.

The payphones he scooted past were the next things to catch her eye.

Without any further thought, Heather made her way towards them, fishing through her bag for some quarters. When they purchased their supplies, she created the illusion of paying in cash, and she had a few of the coins in change. _'Luckily I didn't toss them.'_

Phone held to her ear, numbers dialed and quarters deposited, she waited.

" _Hello?"_ A feminine voice asked from the phone.

"Danica? It's Heather. Can I talk to Greg?"

" _Oh my gosh! Heather! I haven't heard from you in, like, a month. Greg's in the bathroom right now, can you wait a bit? He should be out in a sec."_

"Oh, it's no problem. What've you been up to?"

As Danica began to chat about whatever had been happening to her over the past few weeks, Heather allowed her mind to wander. It was true, Heather hadn't talked to this woman in a while. This was mainly due to the fact that she didn't really have much in common with her.

Danica Cook was the girlfriend of her younger brother, Gregory Duffy. And, while Heather didn't really have anything against her, Heather also didn't have anything she particularly enjoyed about Danica.

Heather liked to consider herself a country girl, through and through. She preferred going mudding over going shopping, rodeo's over opera's, and quality of life over quantity of distractions. Danica was one of those quintessential girly-girl types that Heather was never able to click with well. Constantly shopping, gossiping about people she had no business talking about, and focused highly on appearance over other, more practical pursuits. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing, as Heather did enjoy shopping and gossip and getting dolled up as much as the next girl… she just didn't like it when that was _all_ that happened.

It genuinely confused her when Greg said they'd been dating for over a year and that he was thinking about buying a ring.

"… _and then Mary went and slept with him – can you_ believe _her?! – so we had to leave that bar and then- Oh! Hey, Greg's out. We can finish up after you two talk, 'kay?"_

"Sure." Heather lied.

There was a small bit of rustling from the other line, and a more masculine voice, though still relatively high pitched, spoke. _"Hello?"_

"Greg!" Heather smiled.

It hadn't been _too_ long since they last talked; their last conversation was just about a week ago. When King Smith sent out all the less experienced members of the Investigation to different parts of the country in a hunt for independent mages, Greg was lucky enough to have been saddled with Queens. Most of the area and its mages were well documented, so he treated it like a paid vacation.

" _Sis! What's up? I thought you said we weren't gonna be able to talk for a while? Y'know, bad cell service and all that."_

"My phone broke, and my assignment ended earlier than I expected."

" _Ah, that sucks. Anything interesting happen? Find the guy you were looking for? He did something weird, right?"_

Heather rolled her eyes. Greg was well aware of what she was doing, he was the one that helped her find a rental agency for the boat and jeep in the first place. Why would he call a suspected independent a weird-

' _Oh yeah, Danica isn't a mage.'_ He probably didn't want to talk about things relating to magic and the Investigation around her. In fact, Danica thought he was a contract body guard for some big-wig politician, which was why they moved to Queens.

"That's actually why I'm calling." She admitted. "I'm getting on a plane headed for the city in about an hour, and we should be there in no later than an hour after. Can you pick us up?"

" _Us? Who's us? And yeah, shouldn't be a problem."_

"If I thought phones were secure, I'd tell you the whole story." Heather said. "Trust me, it's important. In regard to the Investigation, it was a priority one event."

"… _Priority one?! How- You_ do _know that means that a Heret- Y'know what? I don't care. You're alive and that's all that matters. I can ask you about it when you get here. You said in two hours?"_

"If the flight goes well, probably sooner."

" _Got it. I'll be at the airport in an hour and a half."_

Heather let loose a relieved sigh she hadn't known she was holding in. "Thanks bro."

" _No prob. See you soon."_

"Bye."

 _ **At the same time…**_

 _ **New York City**_

Jennifer Green felt something was going to be… _off_ about this day as she toured a segregated area of the appropriately named Forest Park in the middle of New York City. She'd been trailing this locale for a good year now, but was only now making an attempt to stray from the paths that had been pre-designated.

Today was supposed to be an experience; a chance to explore a part of the city she'd known for the past five years in a more intimate way. As a researcher for the Sorcerous Sacrilege Investigation, her phone was more often than not going off with requests from her employers. So, to ensure that her free time held no distraction, she turned the device off and began her trek.

She dearly regretted her decision.

Within twenty minutes, having been lost in a maze of trees, she heard a voice. Turning towards it, an unkempt man approached her, though he didn't actually appear off-putting. He was dressed in a tie-dyed sweater, with hair that reached the middle of his back and a beard that was braided in an almost comical fashion. He looked like a happy sort of man, an old fashioned hippie. Jennifer thought he fit well in the forest area.

He did become off-putting quite quickly, however. Upon reaching her, in silence, he rushed at her. Jennifer ran as well as she could, but tripped on a branch and sprained her ankle in her feared state. Her cry was pained. She cursed her lack of knowledge in regards to magic; it would have surely aided her.

The man reached her then, a sort of deranged smile on his face. He reached into one of the many pockets of his cargo shorts and removed a rag. Jennifer struggled to escape him, screaming and calling for help to any that would hear her, but he just used the rag to cover her mouth. Her muffled noises of protest slowly died away, until all that was left was the echo of her heavy, unconscious breathing.

Time passed, and eventually Jennifer awoke, though she did not know how long she was asleep, or where she was. All she knew was that the place she was at was a cave, made of brown dirt and large rocks, with a few tree branches decorating the walls and ceiling. She could determine that she was likely underground, beneath the park she'd just been in. She tried to move, but her arms and legs were bound in rope, and her mouth was gagged with some type of cloth.

And she was not alone. There were other girls of various ages within the camp. There were about thirty of them, the oldest looking line an ancient crone whilst the youngest couldn't have been more than twelve. All were scared, and all were gagged and bound, just as she was.

"Welcome!" The man who'd kidnapped her called out. He entered the cave, his unusual shirt replaced by a flowing robe of earthy colors. "Welcome all, to this most auspicious day!"

He walked around the room, almost savoring the looks of fear the other girls were shooting him. "Some of you might ask who I am, and to that, I say there is nothing to know. My name has been forsaken, all for the sake of my master. If you must think of me as anything… Call me hilt. I am the end of the Staff of Ending, the last _true_ member! My brethren have abandoned our goals, but not I! I shall bring forth the end of our oppression."

He smiled at the group, soft and proud. "And _you_ will be the catalyst that brings about our salvation. Thirty-three women of magic, seven of whom hold the blood of Hime-miko's, diluted though it may be."

Mutters spilled forth from his lips. Jennifer could not hear the words, but she understood that they were patterned. It must have been an aria of some sort. The ground below her began to shake, and she felt her loins go warm with urine as fear once more took place.

A void took shape. The void groaned, and Jennifer watched as it sucked the very life-force from the girls in the room. They aged before her eyes, turning into husks of skin and bone that then turned to dust. Even the man that kidnapped them all was not spared. Jennifer could feel herself grow weak, and struggled to reach the back of the cave, hoping to escape its embrace. The fact that she was still alive meant she succeeded, but the room was blurry and her body frail.

The colors of the cave shifted. Browns turned blue, blacks turned pink, and the grey roots turned a lush green, growing quicker than even the most powerful of mages would have been able to allow.

From the void, a humanoid figure took form. It was male, but that was all that Jennifer could determine. Her sight was growing worse by the second.

But she knew enough. The pressure it exhuded, reminding her of the time King Smith fought Artemis, told her what was needed. This was a Heretic God.

 **"The Grove did not wish to descend,"** the Heretic God said, mournfully. **"It had grown weary. Why have these fools called for it?"**

It noticed Jennifer then. Roots grew around her, thickening and becoming strong, and lifted her towards him. Even as she was less than a foot from him, he was but a blur. She could only just make out that he was hairy, his face almost covered in brown hair, possibly fur.

 **"The roots scream and the earth cries. Humans have felled Terra, and her most beloved child has been called."** He snorted, hot air slapping Jennifer. **"And he shall do as he must."**

With a casual flick of his hand, the roots that held Jennifer up snapped her neck. Her body fell into the void below, and she knew no more.

The Heretic God slowly began to move. The roots and plants and stones followed him, as if they were puppies and he was their master.

He left the cave, and upon reaching the surface breathed in deeply. The air was polluted, the streets overflowed. Nature had been destroyed by humans, and only small pockets of what should have been remained.

The Heretic God wailed, tears falling from his eyes. The trees tried to comfort him, the grass wished to cushion his sorrow, and the earth moved to hold him, but he rejected them all. Wings sprouted from his feet, and he left the clearing.

 **"There is much to do."**

* * *

 **A/N: So, that was an interesting chapter.**

 **James has discovered his power, and Heather has made plans. And, unbeknownst to them, another Heretic God has descended in the middle of New York City, swearing vengeance against humans for disturbing nature.**

 **I would like to make something known about James's Authority through Fosite. It might seem like four abilities, but it's really all one. And, one of those four, the _[Axe of Old]_ , is just the summoning of the axe. There's nothing else to it. It's more of a pseudo Authority, whilst the others are proper abilities. _[Mighty Lumberjack]_ is similar to Godou's _[Ten Incarnations]_ in that it's one power with multiple abilities. Everything save for the _[Axe of Old]_ has either a restriction to use or a price to pay. **

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